Hero
by ChoCedric
Summary: He was Harry Potter, an eleven-year-old angel. His candle burned out long before his legend ever would. What if Harry didn't survive his fight in first year? This story describes reactions of all our beloved characters.
1. The Moment it Began

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter.

Author's Note: Several months ago, this came to me as an idea for a long story with a real plot, but I lost inspiration for it. However, I have decided to make this story purely a character-driven one, with the reactions of all of our favorites if Harry hadn't survived first year. I've already written a bunch of them, so I'll put the ones I've done up, and then write even more. They are also up as one-shots, if you want to see them that way too.

Please let me know what you think of each one! In all, there should be between 20-30 chapters.

Chapter 1: The Moment it Began

As Albus Dumbledore fought his way past the enchantments protecting the Sorcerer's Stone as quickly as he could, his heart raced a mile a minute, and guilt pounded at him harder than it ever had before. How could he have been so stupid as to heed the Ministry's fake call and leave the school, ensuring that the stone was unprotected from the likes of Voldemort? He'd had a hunch that the exiled Dark Lord had been after it for some time. And now things had come to the worst possible conclusion.

When he'd realized he wasn't needed at the Ministry after all, he'd immediately known something was wrong and had come rushing back to school. No sooner had he walked in than he'd run into a frantic Hermione Granger levitating an unconscious Ron Weasley. From the look on her face, Dumbledore guessed what had happened. "Harry's gone after it, hasn't he?" he'd asked softly.

"Yes," Hermione had replied with terror in her voice. "Please hurry."

So now Dumbledore was doing just that. He had a sinking feeling that an altercation between Harry and Voldemort had already occurred, and he was too late.

He finally reached the room that held his form of protection, the Mirror of Erised, and his heart sank to the bottom of his stomach when he saw what was contained within.

Professor Quirrell was lying on the floor, burnt to a crisp. His eyes were opened wide, and they were glassy and staring. Dumbledore had seen that look too many times not to know what it meant: Professor Quirrell was very clearly dead. And he'd been the one that had wanted the stone for Voldemort.

And lying beside Quirrell, his eyes closed and his breathing ragged, lay eleven-year-old Harry Potter. Dumbledore bent down and felt the boy's pulse; it was very weak. The old man knew there was very little time; Harry, the child he'd vowed to protect, was barely alive.

Not even sparing Quirrell a second glance, Dumbledore picked up Harry in his arms. He told himself he'd come back for the corpse later, but Harry was his first priority right now. He had many thoughts buzzing through his head: how could Quirrell have been burned so badly? What had caused it? Was it ancient magic of some sort? He'd had a feeling that Lily Potter's sacrifice would come to mean much more in Harry's lifetime. But as he carried the frail young boy who was barely clinging to life back through the rooms of protections, he knew that the first order of business was to get Harry well again. Terror gripped him as the boy's breathing continued to be labored. Dumbledore knew from experience that this was a sign of major magical exhaustion. He hoped that he could get him to Poppy in time, that the kindly nurse would be able to heal him. Harry simply could not die; it would destroy Albus.

The next few minutes were a blur as Dumbledore carried Harry to the hospital wing, praying the whole time that the boy would miraculously survive this. He knew what Harry's death would mean for the wizarding world, but above all, he wanted the child to survive because he deeply cared about him. Upon meeting Harry for the first time when he was a baby, his joy for life and his pure innocence had radiated off him. And Dumbledore wished that such a huge burden hadn't been placed on the young boy's shoulders.

Once he got to the hospital wing, he was relieved to find that Poppy didn't even ask what had happened. She explained, as she gently took Harry from Dumbledore's arms and placed him on a bed, that Hermione Granger had told her everything and that Ron Weasley was currently recovering. Hermione was very reluctant to go back to her dormitory, but Poppy had sent her back with a Dreamless Sleep potion, reassuring her that Ron would be just fine.

She tenderly looked at Harry as she ran her wand over him, her face paling as she did so. Dumbledore's heart sank even further as she gave him a pained look and bustled away, quickly returning with many bottles of potions. She and Dumbledore gently made sure that they were poured down Harry's throat, and then Poppy sat back, her eyes filling with tears. Dumbledore gazed at her, knowing that this was a very bad sign. "What is it, Poppy?" he whispered.

"Mr. Potter is suffering the effects of severe magical exhaustion," Poppy said softly, taking the old wizard's hand in her own. "Honestly, I don't know if he'll survive the night, Albus."

A pain like no other filled Dumbledore's heart as he gazed at the innocent young boy before him. No, this couldn't be happening! Harry had to survive! He was only eleven, he had so much of his life ahead of him! At this moment Dumbledore wasn't even thinking of the further implications his death would have on the wizarding world. He was only thinking about the child that had run around with his friends with pure wonder on his face, the child that had a look of complete rapture while playing Quidditch, the child that had captured his heart. Oh God, Harry, I've failed you, he thought desperately as he grasped Harry's hand. With all his soul, he prayed for a miracle.

Moments later Minerva McGonagall entered the wing; Poppy had informed her of tonight's happenings. With a guilt-stricken look on her face, she walked over to Albus and sat beside him, looking over the young boy who was one of her students. "Albus," she whispered, "I did a terrible, terrible thing. The three of them - Potter, Weasley, and Granger - they warned me that the stone was in danger. I assured them that it was perfectly safe. How could I have been so foolish?"

"Minerva," Albus said gently, staring into her stricken face. "Do not blame yourself. I myself thought the stone was safe. I would not have left the school if I thought otherwise."

"But ..." Minerva said, her eyes filling as she gazed at her dangerously ill student.

"No, Minerva. This is not your fault. The blame for this situation is mine to bear alone," Dumbledore said in a heartsick voice.

"Miss Granger," Minerva said after a moment of silence. "Should she be notified?"

"She is exhausted," Dumbledore said quietly. "She should not be burdened with any more bad news tonight. I promise she will be notified in the morning."

Minerva stayed with Albus for a few more minutes. Then, she reluctantly left, for she had to supervise her students. She squeezed Albus's hand as she did so, saying, "And don't blame yourself either, Albus."

But as the night wore on, the elderly Headmaster found it harder and harder not to do so. Despite Poppy's efforts, Harry grew weaker and weaker. He'd developed a raging fever by now, which was dehydrating his body no matter how many potions were forced into him. Dumbledore kept praying for a miracle, but fate seemed not to be listening to him.

Finally, at about half past midnight, Poppy gave Dumbledore a look that made the color drain from his face. Fawkes, his phoenix, nuzzled his shoulder, seeming to know what was about to happen as well. Unfortunately, no matter how many tears he cried, his healing powers could not work for these kinds of situations.

His eyes filling with tears, Dumbledore gently lifted the young child from the bed and held him in his arms, stroking his messy mop of black hair. "I'm so sorry, child," he whispered, his voice choking with emotion. "I failed you. I tried so hard to keep you safe, to protect you from this, but all my efforts -failed. I am so, so sorry."

"Albus ..." Poppy whispered, her eyes filling too. She held on to one of Harry's hands while Dumbledore took the other.

"No, Poppy, it's true. I ... I ..." Words failed Albus as he stared into Harry's innocent face. The boy was gasping for breath now, and his face was very, very pale. His whole body was burning up, destroying itself from the inside out. Dumbledore was just grateful that Harry couldn't feel anything because of his unconscious state.

As Dumbledore waited for the inevitable, he remembered what Harry had seen in the Mirror of Erised months ago. More tears spilled from the old man's eyes as he knew that Harry's wish was now coming true. He imagined Lily and James hugging him, holding him, telling their son it was time to come home, that they were so very, very proud of him. And as Dumbledore imagined this scene, he felt Harry exhale one last, shuddering breath. Then, all was still.

And For hours afterwards, Dumbledore held on to the young boy's body. Poppy tried to coax him to let go, but he just couldn't. Even when the body grew unnaturally cold, he held on tight, listening to Fawkes sing a sad, mournful melody. Harry looked extremely peaceful; that was one thing Dumbledore took comfort in, the fact that Harry hadn't died in pain. But as he held on to Harry's cold hand, he did something that he hadn't done in many, many years: Albus Dumbledore truly wept. Sobs racked his body; this was not what he had wanted for Harry at all.

He had failed. The eleven-year-old boy before him would never grow any older, and soon, he would be lying in a coffin. He had failed. This mantra kept repeating itself in his head as night melted into morning. He could still not bring himself to leave Harry's bedside even though the boy was long gone.. 


	2. Too High a Cost

Disclaimer: I still do not own Harry Potter.

Chapter 2: Too High a Cost

Slowly, consciousness returned to Hermione Granger. She could tell it was early morning as she yawned and stretched. This was only confirmed by the time displayed by the clock on her nightstand: 6:30. There was no sound in the dorm the other girls must still be asleep.

Suddenly, the events of the night before came roaring back to Hermione in a torrent. Oh Merlin, Ron! The Philosopher's Stone! Oh good God, Harry!

To be perfectly honest, she had dreaded leaving him alone down in that chamber to face whatever was through the fire. But she knew she had a duty to help Ron too; he'd been unconscious and hadn't looked well at all. So she'd used that famous Wingardium Leviosa spell, the spell that had started the unusual friendship of their trio, and levitated Ron to the hospital wing, where Madame Pomfrey had immediately started fussing over him. Hermione had begged to stay with him, also wanting to wait for news on Harry, but the Mediwitch saw her exhaustion and was very firm that she had to go back to her dorm with a Dreamless Sleeping potion. Knowing a fight lost when she saw one, she had obeyed.

But, now her fear mounted like never before as she got up and dressed. She had to get to Ron and Harry, right this moment. Merlin, were they okay? Had Harry been a martyr and gotten himself killed? Please don't let that have happened, she thought desperately as she quietly left her dorm room and travelled downstairs to the common room.

And standing there was none other than a drained, exhausted-looking Minerva McGonagall. It looked as though she'd been waiting for her.

"Professor?" Hermione whispered in a fear-laden voice. "How did you know ..."

"I know how long those Dreamless Sleep potions last, Miss Granger." McGonagall said in a softer tone than she had ever used on her before. This only made Hermione more scared. "Come with me."

And Hermione didn't ask any questions as she followed her Head of House to the hospital wing. Something was wrong. The leaden feeling in her stomach told her so. The expression on McGonagall's face told her so. The way the woman walked, as though she had the weight of the entire world on her shoulders, told her so.

Soon enough, they reached the hospital wing doors. Minerva quietly opened them and led Hermione inside. "Albus?" she called softly. "Albus?"

"I'm here, Minerva." Albus Dumbledore spoke as he made his way to the two. "I knew you would come. Poppy doesn't like the fact that Mr. Weasley is out of bed, but he needs to know what's happened, as does Miss Granger."

"So ... Ron's okay then?" Hermione said barely audibly.

"Mr. Weasley sustained a concussion, but he is healing." Dumbledore laid a gentle hand on Hermione's shoulder. When she looked into his face, her stomach sank to the ground. He looked ... old. Very, very old. And very, very sad.

Her entire body seizing up and going numb, Hermione followed the adults on autopilot to Madame Pomfrey's office. Ron was there, looking white and shaken. Hermione ran to him and embraced him, tears already dripping down her face. He held her shakily, desperately. Because really, both of them already knew the truth.

They sat down in comfortable chairs, and they were silent for several minutes. But finally, the quiet was broken by Ron. "Wha ... what happened?" he croaked. "Where's Harry?"

"After you told me he had gone to save the Stone, Miss Granger," Dumbledore said gently, "I immediately went to find him. He was in the last chamber, fighting off Professor Quirrell."

"Quirrell?" Ron blurted out. "But I thought ..."

"No, Mr. Weasley. It was not Severus in that chamber." Dumbledore said quietly, and Ron snapped his mouth shut, a look of shame washing over his face which mirrored the one on Hermione's. "It was Quirrell. And Lord Voldemort was with him."

Hermione put her head in her hands, letting out a sob. "You-Know-Who?" she choked.

"Lord Voldemort," emphasized Dumbledore. "You must say his name. Anyway, when I got to the Chamber, Harry was using powerful magic to fight him off. It is a long story, but suffice it to say that his mother imbued him with a special power. It came from the night she sacrificed herself to save Harry. When he touched Professor Quirrell to try to fight him off, he weakened him considerably." Dumbledore didn't want to lie to the children, but at this moment he did not want to give them graphic details of how Quirrell's skin had burned.

"So what happened to him?" Hermione asked.

"I got there just in time to pull him off of Harry," Dumbledore replied, sighing deeply. "Lord Voldemort, having an extremely frail body to attach himself to, fled. Yes, that is how he came to be there. He had been possessing Professor Quirrell all year. And the professor in question is now dead. He cannot hurt anyone ever again."

"Bloody hell," Ron muttered, and Hermione privately agreed with his sentiment.

"Once I had retrieved Harry from the chamber, I brought him here, to the hospital wing," Dumbledore went on. "In his hand he had the Philosopher's Stone. It is now in my possession."

"Where the hell is Harry, then?" Ron suddenly shouted, the suspense too much for him. "You're telling us all this stuff, but you're not telling us what happened to our best mate! Where is he?"

Dumbledore looked at Ron in the eye then, as Minerva looked at Hermione. "Harry began running a high fever as soon as he arrived here," he said sadly. "Fortunately, he was unconscious and not in any pain. He was diagnosed by Madame Pomfrey with a case of severe magical exhaustion. That is when the body uses so much magic, it cannot handle it."

It felt like Hermione's entire body had stopped working. She saw, as though from far away, Ron jump out of his seat and bellow at Dumbledore, "WHERE THE BLOODY HELL IS HARRY? I WANT TO SEE HIM!"

"Mr. Weasley, you need to understand. Harry was very ill," Dumbledore said softly, exhaustion and sadness seeming to ooze from him. "Madame Pomfrey tried to bring his fever down, tried to bring his magical levels back up again, but his body had been through too much." He then turned his tearful gaze to Hermione as he delivered the final blow. "I'm afraid ... I'm afraid Harry didn't make it."

Hermione's shoulders shook with hysterical sobs as Ron screamed, "You're lying! You're lying! He's Harry, for Merlin's sake! Harry's immortal! I want to see him! NOW!"

And he ran pell-mell out of the room, Hermione following lethargically behind him, tears still streaming down her face. The only thought in her mind was: It's my fault. I left him down there. It's my fault. I left him down there to die. My best friend. I left my best friend to fight evil and die.

Neither Albus nor Minerva did anything to stop the two children from searching every bed in the wing until they found their Harry. They knew the truth needed to be faced. They had to see it with their own eyes.

And finally, they found him. Harry was lying on a bed, on his back. His eyes were closed; he looked incredibly peaceful. It was as though he was just sleeping.

"Harry," Hermione choked out, reaching out to touch his hand. It was stiff and unnaturally cold.

"Harry, c'mon, mate, we have Quidditch practice!" Ron hollered at the body. Usually, this pronouncement would have roused Harry immediately.

But when he just continued to lie there, the truth finally nailed itself into Ron. "No!" he shrieked as his knees gave out from under him, and he collapsed to the ground by Harry's bedside. "No, no, no! You can't be dead! You're only eleven for God's sake! Harry! Harry! With a gasp, his eyes rolled to the back of his head, and he fainted dead away.

Albus came running over, lifting the boy into his arms. "It will be okay, Mr. Weasley." He whispered as he carried him over to another bed. "You need to rest now."

But as Hermione sat there crying, still holding Harry's hand and looking into his sweet, angelic face, she didn't know how things could ever be okay again. For once in her life, she had had a friend, someone who had truly cared about her. Memories came swarming over her, memories of a boy who loved Quidditch, hated doing homework, and appreciated the friendships he had with a look of wide-eyed wonder on his face, memories of a boy who had screamed at them just yesterday, screamed that going down there and saving the Stone was the right thing to do.

"No, it wasn't. Nothing was worth the price of your life, Harry," Hermione wept as she leaned her head on Harry's chest. "Nothing." And she knew from that point on, her life would never be the same again. 


	3. Frozen Inside

Disclaimer: I still do not own Harry Potter.

Chapter 3: Frozen Inside

Neville Longbottom sat at the Gryffindor table along with his dormmates Seamus and Dean, waiting for breakfast to arrive. As he pondered the events that happened recently, he couldn't deny that there was, for some reason, a large pit in his stomach, and he knew that last night was the cause.

Last night, he had tried to stop Harry, Ron, and Hermione from losing Gryffindor yet more house points. He didn't know what they were up to, but something told him it wasn't anything good. But for his trouble, he had become the victim of a Body-Bind curse. Hermione Granger had bested him, and he'd lain that way forever, unable to move. It had been hours later when he'd heard Hermione choke out the counterspell, sounding petrified and tearful. He'd tried to ask her what had happened, but she'd just run upstairs without saying anything.

So Neville was left to wonder: what on earth had happened? Why had Hermione sounded so terrified when she'd freed him? And why was it, that whenever he tried to do anything that was associated with magic, he always failed? His gran had always told him he was nothing like his parents, and he was ashamed to admit that she was right. Frank and Alice had been two of the bravest people to walk the planet, and Neville had no right to be related to them in any shape or form.

Still lost in his morose thoughts, Neville glanced around the Great Hall. Where in the world were the said trio that were on his mind? None of them had arrived yet. Then, he glanced at the staff table, and another shiver of fear went through him. Not one staff member was present. What on God's green earth had happened last night?

And then, the doors to the hall opened. Neville watched intently to see who would be coming in. After a few seconds, he saw that it was Professor McGonagall.

But she didn't look right at all. The usually strict, no-nonsense professor looked as though she had been crying. The way she walked, it was as if the whole world was on her shoulders. Taking a closer look, Neville saw oh God was she trembling? What the hell was going on around here?

And then, instead of taking her seat, McGonagall moved to stand directly in front of the room. "May I have your attention, please," she said in a voice which Neville had never heard her use before.

Silence immediately took over the Great Hall as every head turned to look at their stricken professor. No one said a word it was as if everyone knew that something earth-shattering had just taken place.

"Students of Hogwarts, this is truly a terrible day for our world," McGonagall started, her eyes roving over every child, especially the Gryffindors. "I do not want to have to tell you this, but all of you here have a right to know.

"If you remember, Headmaster Dumbledore made an announcement at the beginning of the year that no student was allowed to go on the third floor under any circumstance."

A roaring suddenly began in Neville's ears, and the world started twisting and tilting around him. But despite this, his entire mind was still focused directly on McGonagall as she continued her tale.

She told of how three students - Harry, Ron, and Hermione - had somehow found out what was contained on the third floor, and they had done some true investigation. Upon realizing it was the legendary Philosopher's Stone, and after they'd seen the way some staff members had been acting, they'd come to the conclusion that the Stone was in terrible danger. They'd also come to the conclusion that they needed to stop whatever was about to happen.

She went on to explain, looking incredibly sick as she did it, that last night there had been an altercation between Harry Potter and Professor Quirrell, both fighting for the Stone, and Ron and Hermione had helped Harry to get there. Oh, God, Neville thought. Harry, Ron, and Hermione were not simply sneaking out after curfew to make mischief. They were going to save the school. But something inside him still whispered, you still should have stopped them. You still should have stopped them.

"Professor Dumbledore arrived just in time to pull Harry Potter off Professor Quirrell," McGonagall said, her voice trembling. "You-Know lord Lord V-V-Voldemort had been possessing Quirrell the entire year, and was trying to get a hold of the Stone."

At this, several students gasped, and others burst into tears. Older students immediately flocked to younger ones, trying to calm them down even though their own faces were white.

"Needless to say, Professor Quirrell is now deceased," McGonagall went on, eliciting more gasps from students. "He cannot hurt anyone ever again. The magic Harry used to weaken him caused Lord V-Voldemort to disappear as well. He is gone."

"What happened to Harry?" a Hufflepuff called out, tears streaming down her face. "Where's Harry?"

And Neville knew what was coming as he felt his entire body turn to ice. He couldn't tell how the words registered as Professor McGonagall delivered the final blow, but they did.

"Upon arriving at the hospital wing, Harry was diagnosed with severe magical exhaustion," she said softly, yet her voice still carried through the room. "This is a condition where the body cannot handle all the magic that the recipient used. He had a dangerously high fever and was unconscious. Madame Pomfrey did everything she could to try to heal him, but his young body had been through too much. I'm afraid ..." she whispered as sobs started echoing around the Great Hall, "That Harry Potter is no longer with us."

And with that, she exited the Hall, not able to bring herself to face the students anymore.

Neville sat rooted to the spot for several seconds, listening to the uproar of shouts of denial and sobs around him. People were screaming that it couldn't possibly be true, that the boy was Harry Potter for God's sake, that Harry Potter was invincible, immortal. This had to be some kind of sick joke.

But Neville didn't join the shouting and sobbing. Instead, he just sat there, his entire body frozen and numb. It was his fault, all his fault. I've killed Harry Potter, he thought as ice continued to flood his veins. I didn't stop him from walking straight to his death. It's all my fault.

And with that, Neville's feet were suddenly moving, and he was fleeing the Hall, running faster than he ever had in his life. But as fast as he was going, he couldn't outrun the voices in his head.

Failure, failure, failure. You killed the hope of the wizarding world. Your gran will never want to face you again. You are an insult to your parent's memory. It's your fault.

You, Neville Longbottom, killed Harry Potter. 


	4. Shattered Innocence

Disclaimer: I still do not own Harry Potter.

I'm glad you guys are enjoying the story! Thanks for the reviews!

And yes, Remus will get a turn, as will Sirius and Snape!

Chapter 4: Shattered Innocence

The students of Hogwarts sat, numb, in the Great Hall after a terrible announcement had been made by Professor McGonagall. Harry Potter, the Harry Potter, the hope of the wizarding world, was dead. After an altercation with Professor Quirrell to save the Philosopher's Stone, he had died hours later of magical exhaustion. A raging fever had taken over him, and his body had destroyed itself, not being able to handle the magic that Harry had used.

Some students were sobbing, others were screaming, and yet others just sat there in their seats, no expressions on their faces at all. This was truly a terrible day for the wizarding world.

Then, Professor Flitwick had come into the hall and announced that all classes were cancelled. He had also said that Ron and Hermione were still in the hospital wing, and although they were both okay, no one should bother them right now. Everyone knew why; they had been the two closest to Harry and were obviously taking the news the hardest.

But as breakfast ended, one person got up from his table, determined to break that rule immediately. And this particular person was normally not one for breaking any rules, and reprimanded anyone who did.

Percy Weasley strode with purpose to the hospital wing, thoughts buzzing a mile a minute in his mind. He had always known, from the moment his brother met Harry Potter, that it was bad news. He knew Ron had always felt overshadowed by his brothers, and the young boy was determined to make his mark on the family. And after meeting Harry, his ideas of becoming a hero had multiplied tenfold.

And now it had come to fruition in the worst way possible. Ron had helped to be a hero, but lost his best friend for it. Percy had tried to warn Ron to be careful when it came to Harry, had even told him to distance himself a little, because Merlin, he didn't want Ron getting hurt. Ron had just snarled and scoffed as a reaction, not letting Percy's words even phase him.

And now, Percy had failed. Ron had had his innocence shattered all in one day, and Percy could not have done a thing about it. He knew Ron would be a different person from now on, and there was a huge part of him that wanted to find the bed where Harry was lying, look into that too-innocent, angelic face, and scream at him: how dare you hurt my brother this way! You had no right to take his childhood from him! But he knew it would be no use: Harry couldn't hear anything he said anymore. He was out of reach. What was the use of yelling at a dead person?

Percy also knew that the fact that three first-years had gotten onto the third floor would not go unheard by the Ministry of Magic. They could not brush this off like they had done other things. Headmaster Dumbledore and the staff of Hogwarts would get in trouble for this, and honestly, Percy was glad for it. If people like his twelve-year-old brother were involved in scandals like this, the whole school could shut down for all he cared. All he'd wanted since he was a little boy, no matter how cruelly his family treated him, was to keep them all safe. None of the Weasleys understood him, but it didn't matter. Their comfort and safety was all that he cared about.

His thoughts took him to the doors of the hospital wing, and purposefully, he pushed them open. As he walked inside, the first person he saw was Albus Dumbledore. Fury bubbled up inside him, but his mind told him to control it.

"Excuse me, sir," he said in a careful, polite voice.

Dumbledore turned to face him, his eyes looking miserable and exhausted. "Mr. Weasley," he said softly.

"I wish to see Ron," Percy said in a tone which brooked no argument. "Where is my brother?"

The sound of footsteps followed this question, and Madame Pomfrey came walking towards the two of them. "Ron Weasley should have no visitors right now," she said in what was supposed to be a stern voice, but it did not sound normal. "He sustained a concussion last night which is healing nicely, but his emotional state ..." She didn't finish her sentence, but Percy could guess the rest. He wasn't surprised at all that Ron had sustained an injury, and his anger towards Harry grew even more potent.

"Poppy, perhaps we should reconsider," Dumbledore said. "Since he is still refusing to take the sleeping potion, maybe his brother can convince him."

"Albus, he is too distraught to see anyone," Poppy insisted.

"Family can do wonders for family." Dumbledore replied, looking right in Madame Pomfrey's eyes. "We should allow them to see each other."

Poppy sighed wearily, what little fight she had left seeming to drain out of her. "All right, if you insist." She said. "He's over there." She pointed Percy to the bed where Ron was lying.

Slowly, Percy walked over to it and drew back the curtains. What he saw broke his heart, making his hatred for Harry swell up all over again.

Ron was lying in the bed, staring up at the ceiling. His eyes were hollow and haunted; he looked as though there was nothing left to fight for. He looked broken, and this in turn broke Percy. He had never, ever seen his brother look this way, not in all these years.

Ron heard the curtains open, and he stared at the newcomer. When he saw it was Percy, the expression on his face seemed to grow even more dull. "Oh, it's you," he said in a monotone.

Percy said nothing; he just pulled up a chair and sat by Ron's bed, simply looking his younger brother up and down.

After a few long minutes of silence, Ron slowly sat up in bed. He finally looked Percy right in the eye and said, "You got what you wished for, didn't you? You wanted Harry gone, and now he is. I'll never see him again. Congratulations, Percy, you got your wish."

The words tore a hole through Percy, because he knew there was a modicum of truth to them. He maintained eye contact with his shattered brother and said softly, "I just didn't want you to get hurt, Ron. That's all I wished for."

Ron started to tremble, and his voice began to rise as he replied, "I didn't want ... or need ... your ruddy protection, Percy. I didn't want it then ... and I don't want it now. So get the bloody hell away from this room, from this bed. You have no right to say a damn thing to me anymore."

This struck Percy hard, but he didn't do as Ron asked. He stayed there by his brother, determined not to leave his side.

"I said GO AWAY!" Ron suddenly shouted, his entire body shaking by now. "I don't want you here! What part of that do you not understand? GO AWAY!"

But despite the continuous words of bitterness and anger coming from Ron, Percy did the only thing he could think to do in this situation. He put his arms around the distraught boy, wishing to gather him close to him. Ron struggled in his grip, his furious shouts of "GO AWAY!" still persisting.

But finally, all the anger, all the resentment, all the fury seemed to drain out of him, and he relaxed against Percy, letting himself be held. And Percy saw his brother do something he hadn't seen him do in a long time: Ron Weasley let go of all restraint and started sobbing. Tears streamed down his face as he repeated the name of his best friend over and over again along with cries of, "He's gone, Perce, he's really gone. What am I supposed to do now?"

Percy didn't answer Ron's questions, because he knew no words would help at this point. He just continued to cradle Ron to him, letting the boy cry himself out. The need to go to Harry's body and scream at it doubled; how dare he reduce his brother to this! He had to fight every instinct in him not to go and demand where the stupid, foolhardy boy was lying. Ron needs me, Ron needs me, he chanted over and over inside his head. Harry is dead. He won't be able to hear you. It's no use.

Finally, Ron's sobs subsided, and Percy gently stroked his hair as he said, "Ron, you really should take that sleeping potion. I know you've been refusing to swallow it."

"I don't want it," Ron said hollowly, sniffling. "I'll go to sleep, but then I'll wake up and remember all over again, and ..." But as he said this, he yawned; his exhaustion could not be denied.

"I know, Ron, but you need to rest. It is important for your own health," Percy tried to persuade him. He gave his brother a long stare, pleading with his eyes for him to listen.

Eventually, Ron disentangled himself from Percy's embrace and lay back on the bed. He reached over to his bedside table and picked up the goblet of potion. "Okay, fine," he said softly.

And with one last lost, heartbroken look at his older brother, he lifted the goblet to his lips and drank it down.

The effect was immediate: Ron's eyes instantly closed and his breathing became deep and even. Sighing in sorrow, Percy took the goblet from Ron's hands and placed it back on the bedside table.

And as he watched his younger brother sleep, a thought dominated his mind, a thought he couldn't get rid of even if he tried.

Be careful what you wish for, Percy. You always wanted Ron to grow up, to take life more seriously. Be careful what you wish for. \

Because when you wished for Ron to grow up, this is not what you meant. This is not what you meant at all. 


	5. Purpose

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter.

Author's Note: Thanks again for the reviews, guys! Please keep them coming!

As to why Dumbledore didn't use the elixir of life on Harry, you brought up a really good point. I never even thought of that! Well, if you remember, in the real book Harry was very close to death after this incident as well, and Dumbledore never thought to use it then. So I guess that's why. I also think he probably thought of the elixir as something dark, something only someone like Voldemort would use. True, it could have saved Harry's life in this case.

But despite that, I hope you guys continue reading this story, because I want to post more of it!

Chapter 5: Purpose

Severus Snape sat in his dungeon office, his fists clenched and the look on his face frightening. Minutes earlier, he had been in a towering rage, resulting in a few of his potion bottles being smashed. He was still panting from exertion it had been a while since he had allowed himself to lose control like that.

And it was all to do with a messy-haired, emerald-eyed, foul-mouthed boy. Harry Potter. Harry Potter was dead. Just like his father, he'd poked his nose where it didn't belong, and now he was dead. Gone. The fever resulting from the magical exhaustion he had sustained from his escapade the night before had killed him. He'd succeeded in saving the stone, but had lost his life hours afterwards.

And Severus Snape had lost his purpose. Hadn't the whole reason he'd even bothered to stay alive after Lily's death been because Dumbledore had implored him to protect Harry? But, just like his father, Harry hadn't wanted anyone's protection. He'd wanted to play hero, and look where that had gotten him.

Severus had known all along that the boy, Weasley, and Granger had suspected him of being the one who wanted the stone for the Dark Lord. They'd reminded him so much of Potter Senior and his gang the entire year, immediately looking for any excuse to accuse him of wrongdoing. To them, any problem that happened in Hogwarts was his, Snape's, fault.

Of course, when Severus had made the effort to save the pathetic boy's life on the Quidditch pitch, Potter had thought it was the other way around, that Snape was the one trying to kill him. The ungrateful little whelp was a complete replica of James Potter; there had been no Lily in him to speak of, all except for the eyes, the eyes which Severus would now never see again. The last link to Lily Evans, no matter how foul he had been in Snape's eyes, was gone.

And now, because those three arrogant little twits hadn't left well enough alone, the Headmaster was gone. Severus had just been informed that he had been taken to the Ministry, and Merlin knows what would happen now. There would definitely be an interrogation, and Dumbledore may not even be Headmaster anymore.

Where was Severus supposed to go from here? His reason for getting up in the morning, for even breathing one more breath, had been snatched away from him. What was there left if there was no more of Lily's memory to protect? What was the point of continuing to live?

You can keep atoning for your past mistakes, a little voice in the back of his head whispered. Because of last night, you now know for sure that the Dark Lord is not gone. He is biding his time, searching for a way to return. He may have been thwarted this time, but you know the Dark Lord, Severus. He will not stop searching until he has found a way to come back.

Why should I? a second voice argued angrily. All my efforts to protect the Potter brat were in vain. If I try to help with anything else, I'll fail. So I shouldn't even try. Just give up, Severus, give up on everything and hope to Merlin that if you end up walking beside Lily once more, she'll forgive you.

But the first voice retorted again, and for the next few minutes, the two parts of his mind warred with each other. God, what was he going to do? It would be so easy ... so easy to just end it all. After all, his cabinets were right near him, cabinets which were stocked with all kinds of venoms and poisons.

Slowly, he stood up and walked over to one of the cabinets. Muttering some powerful unlocking charms under his breath, he opened it and reached up to the top shelf, where he picked up one of the poisons he had brewed years ago as a potions experiment. After locking the cabinet again, he brought the poison over to his desk and sat down.

But as he uncorked the vial and was ready to put it to his lips, the voice, which sounded too much like Lily's for comfort, spoke in his head again.

You are a coward, Severus. After all these years, this is how you want things to end? Coward!

And to Severus, that was the worst insult that ever could be said about him. Still holding the vial in his hand, he violently threw it as far away from him as he could. It landed with a clatter, shattering into a million pieces. The contents of the potion leaked onto the floor.

"I AM NOT A COWARD!" Severus howled at the empty air. "I AM NOT A COWARD!"

Well, if you're not, prove it, Severus, spoke his conscience, still in Lily's voice. I may not be here anymore, Harry may not be here anymore, but there's still so much you can do. Help your Slytherins. Help Albus. And help defeat the monster who killed us both.

And so it was, that as Severus pointed his wand at the shattered vial and spilled potion, a new resolve became firm within him. "I will," he intoned, his black eyes taking on a fierce glitter. "I will."

And with this last statement, Severus Snape stood up from his chair. His first order of business was to go to the Slytherin common room and answer his students' questions. He needed to help as many of them as he could, needed to stop them from going down the same path he had walked down, and keep them from making the same exact mistakes he had made. In the end, joining the Dark Lord had not been worth it.

And using Lily's voice and face as an anchor, he exited the office, ready to make a difference. 


	6. Uncertainty

Disclaimer: I still do not own Harry Potter.

Thanks again for the fantastic reviews, everyone! I am so glad you think the story is very emotional. I hope you continue to enjoy my efforts.

Chapter 6: Uncertainty

Draco Malfoy sat in the Slytherin common room, surrounded by his housemates. He leaned back on one of the couches, his posture one of arrogant superiority as he smirked and chatted with the people around him.

This was what one would see if they were observing the scene from the outside. If you were in the mind of Draco Malfoy, though, you would see something completely different.

Harry Potter is dead, the boy repeated to himself in his mind. You should be ecstatic. He was a thorn in your side the entire year, he did nothing but insult you and try to make your life difficult. And, like his parents, he meddled in things which he had no right to poke his nose into, and he got himself killed. Serves him right. He got his hero status, saved the stone, but ended up dying of a fever due to magical exhaustion. How pathetic.

But another part of his mind was struggling to believe his own words. He wished he could go back to yesterday; yesterday had been so much simpler. Harry Potter had still been alive for him to hate, for him to insult, for him to mock. He could dislike the boy and have no scruples about it, he could smirk at his misfortune, he could rant and rave to his dormmates about what a little brat he was. But in the space of just one night, everything had changed.

All his life, he'd grown up hearing stories of Potter from his father. Lucius Malfoy had told him that the boy had somehow bamboozled the Dark Lord when he was fifteen months old. Potter had forever earned Lucius's hatred, for the older man had told Draco that the Dark Lord was the most powerful wizard in the world, and that he was on the road to becoming their savior. Under his rule, Mudbloods would no longer be free to pollute wizarding society with their foul, base, Muggle ways. The Purebloods would have everything they desired; the wizarding world would be theirs. And then Potter had gone and ruined it.

When Draco had learned that the boy was to be in his year at Hogwarts, he couldn't help but feel intrigued. An idea cemented itself in his mind: he would introduce himself to the boy and befriend him, and guide him down the path to greatness. If Potter learned the ways of the world from Draco, perhaps he would one day see how great the Dark Lord was, and instead of being known as the boy who defeated him, he'd be known as his right-hand man. What an irony of all ironies that would be to the wizarding world! And he, Draco Malfoy, would be responsible ... he had brimmed with excitement just thinking about it.

But everything had gone wrong. When he'd met Potter on the train, he'd been shocked to discover he was the same boy he'd met in Madam Malkin's at Diagon Alley. He was dismayed he remembered Potter's defense of Hagrid when Draco had told him his opinion of him. And the worst thing was, he was now hanging out with, of all people, a filthy weasel.

And sure enough, Draco's plans went right out the window when he'd held out his hand and told Potter he could help him meet the right people. He'd felt pure anger and indignation at the boy's response, and then, it looked like he and the weasel were about to fight him, Crabbe, and Goyle. Draco had been ready to fight, too; it had only been when the weasel's foul pet rat had bitten Goyle on the finger that all three boys had fled.

And from that point on, Draco Malfoy had hated Harry Potter with all his being, and it was clear that the other boy had felt the same way. They heckled and insulted each other at every chance they got, and Draco took every opportunity that was given to make the boy's life hell. How dare he refuse Draco's friendship and hang out with riffraff like the Weasels! And it became even worse when after Halloween, he'd accepted a filthy little Mudblood among his circle of friends. How dirty and disgusting!

But now, everything was different. Potter was no longer here to hate. There was no doubt that in a few days' time, he'd be six feet under the ground, never to be seen or heard from again. And even though he knew it shouldn't, this left Draco Malfoy floundering. The thought of Harry Potter, lying dead in Madame Pomfrey's hospital wing, was unfathomable.

"Hey, Malfoy, great news, isn't it?" a seventh-year Slytherin by the name of Darryl Hunt smirked as he came over to the couch Draco was sitting on. "You always despised Potter, didn't you? You can do whatever you want now without his little hero complex getting in the way. No more Harry Potter! This is truly a great day!" His smirk grew wider, lighting up his face as he put out his hand to high-five Draco.

"Yes, thank Merlin. I told him he'd end up just like his parents. It's not my fault he didn't listen to me," Draco sniggered, smirking back. From beside him, Crabbe and Goyle had identical looks of triumph on their visages.

But even as the words escaped Draco's mouth, he couldn't deny that there was a little voice inside his head arguing with them. Draco felt anger then why was the thought of the disgusting boy finally meeting his end bothering him so much? This should have been the happiest day of his life.

And as the morning passed, and he continued to talk to the people gathered around him as they went on with their vitriol against Harry Potter, Draco Malfoy realized the feeling brimming deep within his gut, a feeling he hated more than anything else: it was that of pure, deep uncertainty. 


	7. The Love of Family

Disclaimer: I still do not own Harry Potter.

Thanks again for your feedback, guys! I will definitely continue!

Chapter 7: The Love of Family

When Molly Weasley had received the letter that morning, she had felt her heart break. She had been getting ready for another day around the house, while her husband Arthur had been preparing for work. But that letter, which looked innocent enough on the outside, had turned their world upside down.

The boy, the sweet little boy who had asked her so politely how to get onto Platform Nine and Three-quarters, who had been, to her great shock, Harry Potter ... was gone. He had died last night at the school, after a heroic rescue attempt of the Philosopher's Stone. Molly wept for him no child should have their life ripped away from them like that. At least he hadn't been alone, she told herself. Albus was with him. He'd succeeded in saving the stone, only to die hours later from a raging fever caused by magical exhaustion.

But what completely broke her, what caused her to be inconsolable, was that her youngest son had been involved too. She knew that Ron had always wanted to be a hero, and through all these years, a voice in the back of her mind nagged at her to watch her Ronnie a little closer. Because she had so many children, it could be very difficult to watch each and every one of them with the same level of care. And she realized now that Ron had slipped from her grasp, that she hadn't been there for him like she had the others. How many times had it been, she reflected, that Ron had complained that she didn't remember certain things about him? She realized now that he was absolutely right.

And now Ron had lost his best friend. Molly could have been furious that Harry Potter had gotten him involved in all this, but she wasn't; she just felt sadness. Right now, Ron was experiencing one of the worst things a person could go through. And he was only twelve for Merlin's sake.

So she had come to a decision, along with Arthur. Both of them were coming to Hogwarts to be with Ron. Arthur had already flooed the Ministry to tell them he wouldn't be in today. His youngest son was much, much more important than any job.

There was one more issue they had to deal with: Ginny was still at home. She would not be starting Hogwarts until this September, so this left her parents wondering what to do with her. She had begged to come to Hogwarts with them, but they had told her no; seeing Ron right now would be very upsetting, and they had a feeling that he would only want to see his parents anyway. Ginny had begged and pleaded, sobbing that she wanted to be near him, but Arthur had finally made her understand that this wasn't at all the right time.

Molly had ended up flooing Xenophilius Lovegood, who had immediately agreed to take Ginny for as long as he needed to. Ginny was friends with Luna, after all. Reluctantly, Ginny had followed her through the fireplace to her house.

After Molly returned, she and Arthur got ready, and they promptly left their house. They Apparated as close to Hogwarts as they could get, and then they walked the rest of the way. Both were silent, reflecting on the tragedy that had befallen their youngest son. Molly held tightly onto Arthur's hand as her heart filled with love and worry for her Ronnie.

Before they knew it, they were through the gate, and on Hogwarts grounds. They knew Albus was already gone; he had been taken to the Ministry for questioning. All they could feel about this was a whirl of confusion; they had always believed in Dumbledore. Now that this had happened, though, and their youngest son was involved, they didn't know what to think.

They walked into the entrance hall, and all the way to the hospital wing. Pushing the doors open, Molly led Arthur inside, dreading what she would see.

Madame Poppy Pomfrey was in her office, and she looked up as soon as she saw them walk by. "Molly? Arthur?" she called softly.

"Hello, Poppy," Arthur said, gazing at the exhausted woman. "How ... how is our son?"

Poppy looked at the two parents, her expression one of sadness. "He's not doing well," she admitted quietly. "You know he received a concussion, right?"

"Yes, we know," Arthur replied. "But the letter we received said it was healing nicely."

"Yes, that is true," Poppy said. "But his emotional state is ... well, you can guess. Percy was in here several minutes ago, and convinced him to take a sleeping potion. You will not be able to talk to him for several hours he is sleeping deeply." At the looks on their faces, she went on, "You can still sit with him, if you'd like."

Molly smiled gratefully at her, her eyes filling with tears. "We will do that," she said. "Which bed is he in?"

So Poppy stepped out of her office and showed them exactly where their son was lying. Parting the curtains, Molly and Arthur's hearts broke again when they saw him. He looked so fragile in the bed, his eyes closed and his breathing deep and even. Poppy conjured two chairs by his bedside, and they both sat down.

And for hours, that was where they remained. Periodically, Molly would take his hand, stroke his arm, or speak quietly to him, even though she knew he was beyond hearing at the moment. Arthur simply gazed upon his youngest son, wondering again and again how things could have come to this.

Poppy had checked on them every now and then, asking the two Weasleys whether they needed anything to eat. Both had refused, though; they didn't want to take their eyes off Ron, not even for a single moment.

Finally, at about five in the afternoon, Ron's eyes slowly began to flutter. Molly and Arthur leaned forward, knowing this was the moment they had been waiting for, yet dreading at the same time.

Ron's eyes slowly opened, and the first thing he saw was his parents. He stretched and rolled over, looking them up and down.

"Mum?" he said softly. "Dad? What are you ... what are you doing here?"

But it was seconds after he'd said this that memories began to come back to him. Molly and Arthur knew the exact moment he remembered everything, because his face drained of all color, his expression turning to one of complete and utter devastation.

Molly immediately put her arms around her son, whose whole body began to tremble. "Oh, Ronnie," she whispered, her eyes filling for what felt like the millionth time that day. "Oh, Ronnie, baby, I'm so sorry."

Arthur reached out and took Ron's hand. "We're here now, Ron," he said gruffly. "We're here, and we're not going anywhere."

And at that moment, Ron started to sob. Molly could have sworn her heart completely shattered Ron hardly ever cried. If his brothers teased him, or something happened which upset him, anger was the normal response. But this was different Ron was lying in Molly's arms, weeping. "Harry," he moaned in between sobs. "Harry."

"I know, baby. I know." Molly crooned to him, holding him tightly while Arthur still held his hand. What else could she possibly say? She couldn't tell him that everything was going to be okay, because it wasn't. She couldn't tell him that it was only a nightmare, because it wasn't. All she could do was hold him as he wept for his lost friend.

After what seemed like an eternity, Ron's sobs finally slowed to hiccups. He looked at his parents with swollen eyes and said in a tiny, broken voice, "I never got to say goodbye."

"I know, son." Arthur said softly, squeezing Ron's hand in comfort. "But nobody did. Not even Albus, who was with him at the end, got to say goodbye to him properly. He was very sick, Ron. He was unconscious, and couldn't talk to anyone. But at least he wasn't in any pain."

Ron looked at his parents with tortured blue eyes. "I know," he sniffled. "I know. But I hope he knew ... I hope he knew I cared about him. Me, Hermione, Fred and George, ..."

"He knew, sweetie," Molly whispered. "Of course he did. You showed him happiness and friendship. Of course he knew you cared."

She and Arthur exchanged a look, both agreeing upon the fact that now was not the right time to ask Ron why he had put himself in physical danger the night before. They knew that conversation would have to come, but not now, not today. Right now, Ron needed them to comfort him, to hold him, just to be there for him.

Ron slowly nodded, then rested his head back on Molly's shoulder. "Don't leave me," he whispered. "Please stay."

"We're not going anywhere," Arthur reassured him. "We'll stay with you as long as you need us. And we'll ask everyone else to stay away. Fred, George, and Percy have been by to visit you while you were sleeping, but your mum and I told them to leave you be, and we'll continue to for as long as you want."

Ron let out a long, shuddering breath. "Thanks," he said softly.

"Anything for you, Ron." Molly said as she continued to hold her child close.

And it was then, as seconds of silence lengthened into minutes, that she made a promise to herself that she would be there for Ron, no matter what happened. She would never let her youngest son escape her notice again. It was now time to be the mother she could now freely admit to herself that she had never been.

And she planned to keep that promise, with all her heart.  



	8. Forever Abnormal part 1

Disclaimer: I still do not own Harry Potter.

Thanks so much again for your comments, people! I love them all!

In answer to one of my readers, you asked something about the destruction of the Horcrux inside Harry. Yes, that indeed was destroyed when Harry died. And remember, the reason Harry did not come back to life was the fact that Voldemort didn't have his blood yet - remember, that happened in fourth year. It was that, and only that, that allowed Harry to live after he was hit with the Avada Kedavra in book 7.

And, for the reader that's waiting for the Dursleys, this chapter contains one of them, and the next will contain the other two.

Chapter 8: Forever Abnormal part 1

Vernon Dursley hadn't had any inkling that this day would be unlike any other. He awoke when his alarm went off, just like normal. He showered, shaved, brushed his teeth, and dressed, just like normal. He kissed his wife and son goodbye as he left for work, just like normal.

His first half of the workday was normal, too. He did what he was supposed to do, said what he was supposed to say, and was happy in the knowledge that he was earning enough to keep his family comfortable. All normal things, in Vernon Dursley's opinion. Completely and perfectly normal.

And no matter what he did, he absolutely refused to let his mind wander to a few days' time, when the thing that could make his world tilt off of its axis would come home for the summer. No, he would not let himself think about that. Those thoughts were off-limits.

But everything began to change when he left work to go on his lunch break. Not far from Grunnings, there was a restaurant where he liked to go. The food was excellent, and it always felt comforting to eat. Feeling that this was just the right day to go there, he walked out of his office, out of the building, and down the street.

But halfway to the restaurant, he saw a sight that stopped him in his tracks. A group of people were huddled together, and they looked positively unnatural. They had strange robes on, and were speaking in hushed tones.

Immediately, Vernon flashed back to almost eleven years ago, when this had happened before. Oh yes, he'd seen these freaky people huddled in the street before. But something was extremely different about this occasion. Instead of those people jumping up and down, looking triumphant, today they looked as though their world had ended. Some of them even had tears streaming down their faces.

Every instinct in Vernon shouted for him to keep going, to not pay any attention to those freaks, to go on with his day and eat his lunch like a normal human being. But he was curious despite himself. What could they be talking about? What in Heaven's name had them so upset? Those people could fix anything with their unnaturalness, why did they look like they were all ready to give up?

Before he could process what he was doing, he walked closer to the group, close enough that he could make out what they were saying.

"This is a truly terrible day, Priscilla, I know that as well as you do," said a tall, bald man. "Not only because of the death of Harry Potter, but what might happen to Albus Dumbledore."

"I still can't believe it ... Harry Potter ..." a woman to his right, who Vernon imagined to be Priscilla, sobbed. "Dead! I thought this was over, I thought You-Know-Who was gone, I thought he could never bother the world again! And now ... Harry Potter ... this can't be happening!" She buried her face in her hands, her entire body shaking.

And Vernon Dursley, who had lost all control of what he was doing by now, was beside them in two long strides. "What did you say?" he demanded loudly. "Did you say Harry Potter?"

"Yes!" wailed Priscilla. "Didn't you hear already? It's all over the papers! Harry Potter is dead! He tried to save the Philosopher's Stone! He even succeeded, but ... but ..." She choked on her breath. "He got really ill from the magic he used, and didn't survive the night! We are doomed, I tell you! Doomed!" She put her face back in her hands, continuing to sob.

Vernon's jaw hung open in disbelief. The only thing he could understand out of that entire diatribe was that Harry Potter was dead. The Philosopher's Stone, Harry being ill because of magic ... he didn't understand any of that. But ... Harry Potter was dead ... unbelievable. He simply couldn't get his mind around it.

"Priscilla, you shouldn't have said any of that," said the bald man, laying a hand on the woman's shoulder. "He doesn't look like he gets it. He's not one of us, look at how he's dressed. You just broke the Statute of Secrecy."

"Who cares about the Statute of Secrecy now?" Priscilla howled. "Harry Potter is dead!"

Vernon stood there for a long time, his mouth agape. He didn't know how long it was for, but he was simply rooted to the spot. Then, his mind and senses suddenly snapping back on, he realized where he was and what he was doing. He took one last look at the bald man, the weeping woman, and the others in the group who were watching. They're all barking mad, he finally decided. Completely and utterly barking mad. I'm just going to go on with my day and pretend this never happened. They're just freaks, the whole lot of them. Freaks.

But as he ate in the restaurant, walked back up the street to Grunnings, and continued on with his workday, he couldn't fight the feeling that things had changed forever. People at his office kept demanding to know if he was all right, and he realized he must be acting differently, even though he tried not to. Harry Potter is dead. Harry Potter is dead. The words kept repeating themselves in his mind, but every time they did, another voice kept saying: Impossible, that's impossible, those freaks don't know what they're talking about.

But little was he to know, that as he pulled his car into the driveway of his home, that all hell was about to break loose, and Vernon Dursley's picture of normality would be forever shattered. 


	9. Forever Abnormal part 2

Disclaimer: I still do not own Harry Potter.

Okay, thanks for the reviews! Here goes part 2 of the Dursleys!

Chapter 9: Forever Abnormal part 2

Petunia Dursley stood in her kitchen at Number 4, Privet Drive, making a cup of tea. Vernon was at work, and Dudley was currently in the living room watching television. She felt content and relaxed as she looked around the spotless room.

Summer was coming' it was plain to see that by how much warmer the weather was getting. Also, Dudley had just finished his first year at Smeltings, and Petunia was glad to have him home, so she could pile all her love and affection onto him.

There was something, though, that was almost ruining Petunia's contentment, but she continuously tried to push it away. In five days' time, that something would be returning to her house for the summer. Every time she thought of it, the dread mounted in her stomach.

Harry Potter, her cursed sister's son, was scheduled to return after his first year at that awful school, the school which had turned her sister into a caricature of how she remembered her. The girl who had loved to play dolls with her, dress up in beautiful dresses and twirl around in front of her, had been stolen, replaced by someone who only cared about magic and the new freak friends she had made. The wizarding world had snatched Lily from under Petunia's nose and changed her completely.

And then, it had killed her. She'd married a disgusting, unnatural freak by the name of Potter, got involved with some dangerous, psychotic dark wizard, and gotten herself killed. And now, every time Petunia looked at Harry, it was a constant reminder of the sister she had lost, and the man and world she'd lost her to.

And, Petunia thought bitterly, what kind of barbaric person leaves a baby on a doorstep with a letter and demands for you to take care of him with hardly any explanation? All the letter had said was some jibberish about blood wards, and about how it was essential that Petunia take care of him.

Petunia had been just about ready to disregard the whole thing, to go with Vernon and drop the boy off at the nearest orphanage, when he opened his eyes.

They were emerald green.

And from then on, the boy had stayed. Petunia couldn't explain why she had given in; it was just that when the boy had looked at her for the first time, she'd sworn it was Lily giving her that stare, that stare that always made Petunia do whatever Lily wanted when they were children. And since then, she'd grown angry every time she saw him look her way the fury and resentment was huge. How could she have been such a fool as to give into those eyes?

Stop thinking about it, Petunia, her mind hissed at her. Enjoy these next five days, and just don't think about it.

So, with a great effort, she cast those treacherous thoughts away and brought her cup of tea over to the table. She sat down in her chair and began to drink it, relishing the warmth that flooded her body.

Suddenly, there was a loud knock on the door. Petunia immediately put her tea down and left the kitchen to investigate. Who could be at the door? She wasn't expecting anyone, was she? Maybe it was one of Dudley's friends, she thought hopefully. But for a reason unbeknownst to her, a feeling of foreboding crept into her consciousness.

Before she knew it, she had arrived at the door, and she opened it quickly. And there, standing on her doorstep, was a woman that Petunia knew, the instant she looked at her, was "one of their lot". She could tell by the way she was dressed. The expression on her face was one of complete fatigue.

"Petunia Dursley," she said in a Scottish accent. "I need to speak with you immediately."

It was then that Petunia seemed to move into autopilot mode. She beckoned the woman inside, and they went into the living room, where Dudley was still watching television.

The instant the boy saw who was with his mother, he blurted out, "Mum, what are you doing? Why have you let this freak into our house?"

"I would watch your manners, young man," the woman said coldly. At these words Dudley seemed to shrink into the couch, and he wrapped his hands protectively over his behind. He had not forgotten what had occurred last summer.

"It's okay, Diddy," Petunia said in a would-be reassuring voice. "Everything's okay."

There was a few seconds of uncomfortable silence, and then the witch began to speak.

"My name is Minerva McGonagall," she said, and her voice sounded monotonous and detached. "I am the Deputy Headmistress of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry."

"What's happened?" Petunia demanded, looking Minerva up and down. "Something's happened to my nephew, hasn't it? What's he done? What trouble has he landed himself in?"

Minerva sighed wearily as she looked Petunia right in the eyes. Then slowly, as if every word was costing her a great effort, she began her tale.

And Petunia listened, because there was nothing else for her to do. She listened to Minerva tell of the Philosopher's Stone and how her nephew, along with two friends, had tried to save it. She told of the altercation the night before, and how Albus Dumbledore found him fighting Quirrell.

Then, she got to the part of the story where Harry had arrived at the hospital wing, and after this, she couldn't go on. But Petunia, the color draining from her face, could guess the rest.

"He's dead," she whispered, her entire world jarring to a halt. "You said he was really ill, and the school nurse was taking care of him. But he ... he didn't make it, did he? You wouldn't be here otherwise."

Minerva, trying but failing to keep her face stoic, slowly nodded her head.

And it was at this point that Petunia lost it. She gave Minerva the longest, most furious glare she could, and her voice rose into a shrill shriek as she screeched, "I was right! I was right! I knew he should never have gone to that school! You killed him, just like you killed my sister! You're no-good freaks, every single last one of you! I didn't want ANYTHING, ANYTHING, to do with your lot! You forced that boy on us, dragged him off to that freak school, and now he's dead! And I wish you were too! All of you unnatural hoodlums can go kill each other for all I care!" Breathing heavily, she collapsed onto the couch, her world tilting and spinning.

Before Minerva could open her mouth to form a reply, the door opened, and in stepped Vernon. He took one look at his wife hyperventilating on the couch, his son with his mouth wide open in undisguised shock, and the strange witch, and simply said, "It's true, isn't it? The boy's dead."

Petunia turned to her husband with wide eyes, still gasping for breath. "How did you ... how did you know?" she spluttered.

"Heard people talking about it in the street," grunted Vernon. "What did he do to himself?"

Petunia opened and closed her mouth, but nothing came out. She looked back and forth between her son, Minerva, and Vernon, and didn't know what to say. Her mind was racing; the last link to her sister was dead. And once again, it was all the wizards' fault.

Suddenly, Dudley spoke up, his face still full of shock. "Can ... can I have my second bedroom back now?" he asked slowly.

And Minerva snapped. She wheeled around to face Dudley, the most grotesque look of fury on her face. "How dare you," she growled. "How dare you. You just found out your cousin is dead, and all you are worried about is your bedroom? I have never met such a selfish person in my life. I am leaving. I will contact you," she said as she glowered at Petunia and Vernon, "To tell you of the funeral arrangements, but I sincerely doubt you will make the effort to show up. I hope to Merlin that everything you did to that child, everything you put him through, will remain on your conscience for the rest of your lives."

And with one last look, she walked out of the living room. The next sound the family heard was the front door slamming.

For the next little while, all three Dursleys were silent, trying to process the last few minutes.

Finally, Vernon walked over to Petunia and patted her on the shoulder in a manner which she knew was meant to be reassuring. "Never mind, Petunia," he said gruffly. "Maybe now, things can go back to normal. Those freaks will never bother us again."

But even as he said this, Petunia knew that Vernon knew that the world didn't work that way. Things would never be normal again.

And Petunia also knew that Minerva's last words to her would haunt her for years to come: "I hope to Merlin that everything you did to that child, everything you put him through, will remain on your conscience for the rest of your lives." 


	10. The Will to Live

Disclaimer: I still do not own Harry Potter.

Thanks so much for your comments! Yes, we will indeed get a chapter on what certain pureblood supremacists think of Harry's death. And as for Sirius Black, read on!

Chapter 10: The Will to Live

Sirius Black sat huddled in upon himself, his fingernails digging into the grimy floor as the cold suffocated him. He couldn't even remember how long he had been stuck in this prison, but he knew it had been for many years now.

To be honest, he was tired of everything; tired of the constant nightmares of Lily and James's empty bodies, tired of watching the street explode again and again in his mind's eye, watching his cowardly ex-friend scuttle off into the sewers just like the little rat he was.

He was slowly but surely losing the will to fight, to live. The mantra of "I'm innocent, I'm innocent, I'm innocent," was getting harder and harder to remember every day. Changing into Padfoot was more of a taxing effort than it had ever been. Honestly, he was about ready to give up.

Suddenly, he heard a sound he didn't hear very often around this freezing, barren place. Footsteps. Someone was coming down the hall. He knew that the Minister of Magic came to inspect the prison every now and then. Was it him? Had he come to taunt Sirius again, to gloat over his suffering?

And, it being just his luck, the footsteps came towards his cell. It was indeed Cornelius Fudge inspecting Azkaban.

He leered at Sirius from across the bars. "Good afternoon, Black," he said in a voice thick with venom, thrusting a newspaper into Sirius's cell. "I thought you'd like to see this. Figured you'd want to know what's going on out there in the real world." And he smirked as he walked away.

Dread suddenly mounted in Sirius, dread more fierce than he'd felt in all these years. No one, no one had ever given him a newspaper willingly before. And Fudge looked smugger than ever when he had done it.

As he picked it up and cast his eyes to the headline, his hands were trembling. As he red it, all the remaining color in his face drained out of it as he looked at the paper with horror, the remainder of his heart shattering into miniscule pieces.

HARRY POTTER, THE BOY-WHO-LIVED, DIES IN HEROIC STRUGGLE TO SAVE PHILOSOPHER'S STONE

For several minutes he couldn't read any further. For the first time since he'd arrived in this hell, the mantra of "I'm innocent, I'm innocent, I'm innocent," stopped playing within his head. It had been echoing like a drum all this time, but now it was gone. It had simply vanished as though it had never been there at all.

After about five agonizing minutes, he finally brought himself to read the article. It said that someone had tried to steal the stone from Gringotts, so Dumbledore had moved it to Hogwarts.

And apparently, Harry Potter had been every bit the hero people had always imagined. It had only been the boy's first year, for Merlin's sake. He'd valiantly struggled against someone named Quirrell, who, irony of all ironies, had been the one to steal it from Gringotts in the first place. He'd had Voldemort sticking to the back of his head all year. Harry had been successful in saving the stone, only to die hours later from a raging fever caused by magical exhaustion. He'd used so much magic to fight off Quirrell, his body hadn't been able to handle it.

That night, a chill went through the prison, an even colder chill than usual. Everyone huddled in their cells as a terrifying, unearthly wail came from one of their fellow prisoners. Some knew who it was and laughed mockingly, but others had gone so insane that they had no clue who had made the sound. The wail went on, and on, and on, and on, and on, causing the convicts to finally cover their ears.

Eventually, the wail ended, only to be followed by harsh, gut-wrenching, racking sobs. In his cell, Sirius Black wept for his failure. He was also enraged at Dumbledore; what the hell was he thinking, putting the stone in a school full of children? But he knew, deep down, that it was his fault, that he had failed to protect Harry, something he'd promised Lily and James he'd always do. All this time, the one spark he'd held inside him was the possibility of somehow clearing his name, of seeing his beloved Godson again. But now that would never happen, because in four days Harry would be lying in a coffin, being prepared for burial. He had failed.

And he knew that the biggest mockery of a funeral was about to take place. Ministry officials would be looking at Harry's open coffin, speaking of sorrow, loss, and the tragedy of a young life being cut short. But they'd never known Harry, never loved him. Sirius remembered those precious moments where he'd embraced him as a tiny baby. He remembered when Lily and James used to tease him when he playfully licked the boy's face as he, in his dog form, made soft woofing noises in his ear. Merlin, all he'd wanted was to embrace him just one more time. But he'd never get the chance now.

Over the weeks that followed, his mood grew more and more depressed. He couldn't care less anymore whether the truth about Pettigrew died with him. There was no more Harry to protect. What did anything matter now?

He started to not eat the food the Dementors gave him. He started transforming into Padfoot less and less. He no longer thought of his innocence at all. Yes, Sirius Black was wasting away.

His deterioration continued until one day when a human guard opened his cell door to clean out the small pot that was located inside for bathroom functions. The sight that met his eyes shocked him, because he thought Sirius Black would hold on forever. He'd never known what it was about this particular prisoner, but something about Black had always confused him.

The man himself was collapsed on the floor of the cell, the newspaper he'd received so many weeks ago clutched in his hand. There were tear tracks on his face, even though it now looked peaceful instead of anguished. Instinctively knowing the truth but still wanting to make sure, the guard checked his pulse.

There was none.

Sirius Black was dead. It seemed that finally, after eleven years, he had lost the will to live. Shaking his head at such a waste of a life, the guard levitated him out of the cell.

Days later, it was all over the news. People all over the wizarding world would always think about how strange it was that he had died so soon after Harry Potter. And the saddest thing was, they would never know the truth. 


End file.
